Page 22 of Puck Love

“Excuse me?”

“I got you viral, and now everyone wants to know what makes serious Jake Milligan tick. I don’t know if you’ve checked recently, but my agent told me you gained a hundred thousand followers within a week of that podcast. Something about greattiming since you’re in contract negotiations too. He thinks I’m good for your career, so…you’re welcome.”

And just like that, I was wide awake, sputtering indignantly. “You fucking pompous piece of lowlife shit. You’re literally theworstthing possible for my career. I don’t want my name associated with yours…ever. Good, bad, or anything in between. Dirty playing and grandiose posturing is the Trinsky brand, not mine.”

“No, your brand is boring, efficient skating, and puck hogging. Emphasis on bor?—”

I flung my pillow at him. “I do not hog the fucking puck.”

Trinsky growled as he sat up. “Your most exciting recent game was the one where you limped off the ice with blood on your face. You showed some passion out there, like you gave a crap. Your problem last season was that your team is both too old and too young. The old guys are slow and the new kids don’t feed you shots exactly the way you like it, so you lose and you’re used to winning. And what do you change? Nothing. You’re an ice man out there, trying to put your team on your shoulders. It doesn’t work. But if you had blood dripping down your chin every night at least it would look like you gave a shit and?—”

This time, I flung myself at him, scrambling out of my sleeping bag and slamming Trinsky flat on his back. The element of surprise in the dark tent worked in my favor. He fell with an “Oomph” as I straddled his torso, wrapping my fingers around his throat.

He grabbed my wrists and pushed, rolling us sideways and tangling our legs in the sleeping bag. We knocked the lantern on its side, grunting and growling like maniacs in our quest to come out on top. I hadn’t been in an honest-to-God, pull-no-punches wrestling match off the ice in years. And as Trinsky had so obnoxiously observed, I wasn’t known for being a fighter on the ice, either. He was.

A physical altercation with this numbskull wasn’t smart. At all. Trinsky outweighed me by at least twenty pounds of pure muscle. He was scrappy and thick, and I had no hope of winning this fight. But anger and adrenaline were powerful motivators.

I pushed his chest, hiked my thigh over his, then threw a punch that didn’t land before diving for him again. Trinsky caught my elbow and instead of retaliating with a left hook, he pulled me against him, tightening his hold like a boa constrictor.

Note: We were now on our knees facing each other in thin cotton pajamas, locked in a weird-ass embrace. He wasn’t moving, and his tight grip made it difficult to wiggle away.

The darkness added an aura I couldn’t quantify. All I could think was,Fuck, he’s strong, and that thought sent a thrill up my spine and?—

Holy crap.

Trinsky’s warm, hard body plastered to mine kind of…turned me on.

No.

No, no, no.

I bit his shoulder, shoving him as he yelped. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“You attacked me, ya dirty raccoon. I’m gonna need a damn tetanus shot.”

“Why don’t you get one now?” I snarked, straightening my sleeping bag with military precision, my heartbeat reverberating in my ears.

“Gee, I’ll get right on that. Oh, wait. It’s midnight, and I’m stuck in a tent with an animal in the fuckin’ forest.” His sarcastic tone was so over-the-top, it was funny.

Or it might have been funny under other circumstances. But now…

I had a boner. No kidding. I had a raging fucking hard-on.

I was stunned.

Popping wood at the merest brush of another body, any body, was a condition for teenagers, not grown men in their thirties. I didn’t get it. I mean, I loathed this guy. Trinsky was combative, ridiculous, and annoying.

I swallowed hard, zipped the sleeping bag, and burrowed into the down warmth.Do not freak out. Do not freak out.

There had to be a logical explanation—no doubt it had something to do with exhaustion and the release of pent-up agitation. It had felt gratifying to get some angst out. Unfortunately, my subconscious had just taken it to a weird level.

“You have my pillow. Toss it over.” My voice was deep and gravelly. Shit, that was a sex voice. Any second now he’d call me out for?—

“Nope. It’s my pillow now. Night, Jakey,” Trinsky singsonged.

A wave of pure rage hit me. It was feral and base, and came with a side of something primal. I balled my hands into tight fists and cautioned myself not to lunge for him again.

What was my deal? I was even-tempered…ask anyone—but this guy brought out the worst in me.